Just Cry, Revised Version
by Phoenix Flower
Summary: Jak opens up to Keira about his two years of imprisonment. Contains some nonexplicit mature content and brief mild language. I think I rated it appropriately, but if you disagree, please let me know instead of reporting me, so I can fix it.


**Just Cry – Alternate Version**

**by Phoenix Flower**

This is a non-songfic version of my critically acclaimed "Just Cry." Along with taking out the song, I've made additions and alterations to the body of the story, and I'm rather pleased with the result. Thank you for all the reviews of the original; it makes me feel so good to know that people enjoy my writing.

Speaking of reviews, Krimzon-Yakkow026, I decided to take into account your constructive criticism—namely, that "maybe Jak's explanation was a little rushed, and he may have been a bit more tentative to say anything about what happened." Thanks for the advice, buddy. ;)

Feedback is greatly appreciated, especially if you tell me which of the two versions you prefer and why.

_Disclaimer:_ Jak II and all related characters are property of Naughty Dog Inc. I am simply borrowing the characters without permission and making no money off it.

Ambient sounds of festivity permeated the warm night air as the inhabitants of Haven City celebrated their newfound freedom. Fireworks sent bursts of streaking color across the sky's velvet expanse, bestowing an intermittent semblance of daylight upon the city below.

For the time being, the people were able to exile their personal troubles to some remote corner of their minds, where all unpleasant thoughts would wait until the coast was clear before resurfacing. Even the young, blond hero of the city was able to put aside the pain he had endured for two long years. His demons, however, were less patient than those of any of the townspeople. They pulled fiercely on their chains, like rabid beasts that are held at bay but still insist on making their presence unsettlingly known. Jak clenched and unclenched his fists, reinforcing the shackles that protected him. He would not let the beasts loose, not at what was supposed to be a time of jubilation.

He was slightly startled when a small hand slipped into his, calling him back to the present time and place. He looked to the side and was met with the smiling face of Keira. He smiled and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze as her presence sedated the demons. "Hi," he offered.

"Come with me," she said, turning to lead him by the hand back into the Naughty Ottsel. He was slightly puzzled, but he still followed without hesitation. The door had barely closed behind them when the young woman pulled him close and pressed her lips to his in their long-awaited first kiss.

After a moment of wide-eyed surprise, Jak embraced her and returned the kiss with a low sigh of pleasure. Keira broke the kiss after several seconds; Jak immediately missed the softness of her lips, but now he could look into her emerald eyes, so it wasn't a total loss. Keira smiled. "I got tired of Daxter interrupting us," she said, blushing slightly.

"Yeah, same here," he agreed, a bit breathlessly.

"Let's go someplace more private, where we don't have to worry about him popping up." She started to lead him to where she had parked her zoomer, but Jak brought up the valid point that, if they left together, it could arouse suspicion. Neither knew what Samos would think of it, and Daxter would certainly never let Jak forget it. They came to an agreement: she told him where she was parked and left to wait for him; after a few minutes, he snuck off to join her.

They arrived at the stadium, and he followed her up the stairs leading to her apartment above the racing garage. There were three or four locks on her door, but it took her only a few moments to unlock them; repetition had made the action almost second nature for her. Jak couldn't blame her for her caution; under Praxis's rule, Haven City certainly had been a less-than-friendly place. He reflected briefly on this fact and hoped that the metropolis would become safer under Ashelin's rule.

Keira returned the key to her pocket and opened the door. Her apartment was modestly but tastefully furnished. The main area contained a somewhat faded couch and matching easy chair; they had been a deep jade color before but were now a bit paler to the green of Keira's eyes. The couch and chair were situated around a glass coffee table, on which rested an overlooked off-white mug that still contained a few unsalvageable drops of coffee. (Other than that, her dwelling was immaculate.) A window on the east wall of the apartment provided a view of the stadium, and one on the south wall provided a view of the city outside. Connected directly to the main area was a modest kitchen alcove, with white formica countertops flecked with light brown. Opposite this alcove, one door led to the bedroom, another to the bathroom.

Jak briefly surveyed his surroundings as he unhooked the thick leather straps that encircled his chest and hung them on a hook next to the door. Keira asked whether he'd like something to drink, but he politely declined. As they sat beside each other on the couch, Keira's expression became rather solemn. "I wanted to speak with you alone," she told him, her voice gentle. Jak nodded for her to continue. "I think we should talk about…what happened to you."

He sighed and frowned, looking away. "The Dark Eco." Keira nodded, recalling the distance she saw in his eyes when they reunited in the garage. Jak shook his head and said mulishly, "What's there to talk about? The Baron pumped me full of the stuff, and now I'm a monster—end of story."

Keira flinched at his brusque retort. "You're not a monster, and that's not the end of the story. I know there's more to it than what you just said. Otherwise you wouldn't be like this."

He scowled at her, and she immediately regretted her choice of words. "Like what?" he snapped.

"You wouldn't…you wouldn't be so distant. You wouldn't shut me out like this."

"Shut you out!" he exclaimed incredulously, standing up. "You're one to talk! You haven't exactly rolled out the welcome wagon either! Remember? 'Oh, Jak, you look different. You get angry and change.'"

Keira shot to her feet. "I know! I screwed up, okay! I…I shouldn't have said that; I'm sorry. It's just, when I saw you…at first, I was so happy you were back, but then I looked in your eyes and…I froze." She was fighting back tears now, and Jak felt his resentment waning. "I knew something terrible must have happened to you. You weren't the Jak I knew, and I was scared I'd really lost you. Forever."

Jak was silent. He shifted his gaze to an invisible point off to one side. The urgency in her voice tugged at his heart, and he felt a little guilty for snapping at her.

"I want to know what happened. I just want to understand," she entreated. "Please, just talk to me. That's all I'm asking."

He crossed his arms and turned his back to her. "It won't change anything—what happened happened," he asserted stubbornly, his voice tinged with regret. "There's no point in reliving it all, so let's just pretend it never happened."

"But it did. Ignoring it won't make it go away. If you don't deal with it…you're just gonna keep pushing me away—pushing _everyone_ away. I know you don't really want that, and I don't want it either. I've missed you, Jak. I don't want to lose you again."

In the long hush that followed, she prayed silently that he would open up to her. She empathized with his reluctance to open the door that he had doubtlessly hoped to keep locked indefinitely. But anguish that was acute enough to transform a carefree, lighthearted youth into this cynical, disconsolate man was not something that could be sealed away and forgotten. It was like a porcupine quill, working its way in deeper and deeper, inflicting ever more damage. Extracting it would be painful, but it was crucial if there was to be any hope of healing.

He half-turned to meet her gaze. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and he silently scolded himself. Here she was, earnestly reaching out to him, and he was pushing her away. In truth, he wanted desperately to reach back, but he didn't want his burdens to weigh her down as well. In his mind, 'shutting her out' was the best way to protect her from his own pain. He didn't want to hurt her, and now his reticence was doing just that.

He muttered a mild oath under his breath as he sank back onto the couch. He leaned forward, buried his face in his hands, and took a few deep breaths. He realized that he couldn't just walk away now, but the prospect of reliving his torment still terrified him. For several seconds, he was silent, preparing himself. At long last, he spoke. His apprehension still showed in the halting cadence of his voice, but he could not—would not—let his fear silence him anymore.

"As soon as we arrived in Haven City, Praxis had me arrested…and he started experimenting on me with Dark Eco." Keira sat beside him, moving slowly as though she might frighten him back into his shell. "Somehow, he knew I was a Channeler, and he was trying to make me into a weapon to fight the Metal Heads." He returned his gaze to her. "That's the word he and Erol used. Not a warrior—a _weapon,_ Keira."

Keira felt a pang of pity. They had treated him like an animal. No, worse than an animal—a _thing. _"Erol helped him?" she asked. He nodded, and she almost felt nauseous with shock and shame. "I trusted him. All this time…I trusted someone who was helping to…torture you."

Jak leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. "'Torture' is putting it mildly. Almost every day for two years, they…locked me onto a metal chair and…injected Dark Eco into me. You have _no idea_ what that feels like. I thought my body was gonna tear apart. Sometimes, I hoped it would—I actually _wanted to die._ At least then they couldn't hurt me anymore. I thought so many times about killing myself and getting it over with, but I never worked up the nerve."

"Thank the Precursors for that," choked Keira, putting a comforting arm around his waist.

Her touch brought him back to her, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze. "The guards were no better. Every now and then, they liked to beat up prisoners for the hell of it. They used any stupid reason as an excuse. Maybe someone would look at them funny or talk out of turn—it didn't matter, 'cause they really just wanted to remind us who was in charge. And of course, if anyone was sick or injured, the Baron couldn't be bothered to ever get any doctors for a bunch of measly prisoners. He figured if we didn't have the strength to recover on our own, we were useless anyway. Sometimes, the beatings alone were enough to kill a prisoner. The only reason I wasn't killed is that the Baron thought I might be useful and told the guards to _take it easy_ on me. So they just beat me as bad as they could without actually killing me, and you'd be surprised what you can live through, believe me. Just look." He turned his back to her and lifted the back of his tunic. What he revealed made Keira gasp in horror. The young man's back was covered with hideous scars from wounds that had not mended properly.

All this was almost too much for Keira. Her heart ached painfully, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. She shook her head in horrified bafflement. How could anyone do such cruel things to Jak, somebody so kind and innocent? How could they strip him of his innocence like that? "Oh, Jak," she whispered almost inaudibly, gently touching a particularly ugly scar with her fingertips, shock momentarily robbing her of further speech. She bowed her head and pressed her forehead to his upper back. "Oh, God, Jak. You didn't deserve it—any of it. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." These last words held two meanings: sympathy for his suffering and remorse for the way she had acted toward him back in the race garage.

Jak covered his eyes with one hand, his elbow on his knee. "They wanted to turn me into a monster," he recalled bitterly, "and it worked."

"No. Don't say that," she implored, lowering his tunic back into place.

"You don't know. You've heard the stories but you've never seen what I turn into. 'Monster' is the only word for it. At first, I couldn't control when I transformed or what I did; Precursors help me, I almost killed Daxter. I can control it now, but…it's still there. I still have that inside me."

"But it's not you," she said, trying to keep her voice strong. She turned his head with her hand and made him look at her. "_You are not a monster._ If you were, we wouldn't be having this conversation. A monster can't pour out its heart like you're doing, because it doesn't have one. It can't feel the things I know you do. Don't _ever_ call yourself a monster. They tore you down enough in that prison; I won't let you take over for them!"

Jak stared at her, surprised by her sudden firmness, yet grateful at the same time. "Keira…"

With a sigh, Keira bowed her head and closed her eyes. She lifted the back of his tunic again and began softly kissing his scars, over and over, as if to erase them and the memories they represented.

Jak had exposed his spirit's wounds to the air. This is the first step in healing, but it also can be almost as painful as the initial injury, and that's why his eyes were now filled with tears. He sniffled quietly as he instinctively fought them back. Keira heard this and felt his shoulders tense. He was still holding back. Between kisses, she whispered against his skin, "Just cry."

If he had any lingering reservations about letting himself display such vulnerability, those two simple words banished them. The last of his walls fell away and, for the first time in what seemed like ages, he let tears spill freely down his face. He turned and hugged her tightly, so tightly, as if the universe would end if he ever let go. For several minutes, neither said anything; the only sound was Jak's unabashed weeping. Keira resisted the instinctive impulse to offer words of reassurance or sympathy; she simply held him, proffering silent empathy as he released the emotions he had tried to keep hidden from the world before. She soothingly rocked him back and forth and rubbed his back, letting his tears soak the shoulder of her tank top.

After his sobs had quieted somewhat, she drew her head back so they were face to face, and she kissed a tear from each of his cheeks. Jak expected her to screw up her face as one does when tasting something bitter, but she did nothing of the sort. She simply cupped his face in her hands and looked lovingly into his eyes, the softness in her features never wavering. Jak managed a weak but heartfelt smile. A fresh wave of tears came forth, but these were different. The other tears had represented two years of pent-up fear, pain, and despair; these were of liberation, gratitude, and love.

Very slowly, he and Keira leaned toward each other until their lips met in a soft, chaste kiss. They embraced and kissed again, then again, and again, each kiss a little more fervent than the last. Somewhere in the midst of their embrace, they came to a tacit agreement on where this would lead. With trusting hearts, they spent the night in each other's arms. The fact that they were both virgins made for a moment or two of awkward clumsiness during their lovemaking, but it was nevertheless a tender experience that reinforced their unbreakable link and that they both would treasure for the rest of their days.

After being steeped so long in darkness and disgrace, Jak could barely wrap his psyche around the idea that Keira would welcome him into her heart and her bed. For so long, the shadows inside him had persecuted him, insisting relentlessly that he was evil, tainted, an empty and soulless husk unworthy to give or receive love. But now, as the love shared between him and Keira infused his soul, those hitherto inexorable voices faded with each passing moment. With every kiss, caress, and endearment, Keira told him, _'You're not a monster. You're not evil. You're beautiful, Jak. I adore you, scars and all.'_ His spirit was being returned to him—and so was his body. Over the past two years, in order to survive, he had learned to distance himself from it while his torturers battered and exploited it. But now he felt himself coming back. His body and soul both belonged to him, not to his torturers. They were his alone to possess—and to share with the woman he now held in his arms.

It was all just too much to take in. In the final moments of their joining, as his climax followed hers, he let out an unrestrained howl of pleasure and, for the second time that night, burst into tears, though they were more subdued this time.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Keira was crying with joy as well. That's when it hit him that the past two years had brought pain to her as well. Her world had been blown apart. True, she had not been incarcerated and tortured—but, like him, she had been torn away from her home, everything she had known, everyone she held dear. Like him, she had been frightened and lonely. But finally, now that fate had reunited them, they could rebuild their lives. Finally, they could heal.

Without a word, he kissed her tenderly, his lips moving slowly against hers. She lightly held his face in her hands as she returned the kiss with equal gentleness. He ended the kiss and gazed fondly at her, his eyes half-closed with contentment and fatigue. "I love you," he spoke softly.

Keira smiled serenely, remembering when they had said those same words to each other a few hours ago, just before making love. "I love you too, Jak," she said now. "So much."

With a contented sigh, he rested his head on her chest. He listened with meditative tranquility as her rapid breathing and heartbeat gradually returned to normal. "You're not alone anymore," the young woman said quietly, twining her fingers through her lover's thick hair and hugging him. "No matter what has happened or will happen, we'll face it _together._ I promise."

He kissed her shoulder, his arms tightening around her slim waist. "Thank you, Keira."

THE END


End file.
